Fright Night
by Nyx6
Summary: Fifteen-year-old Sam has a hot date for Friday night. He should be happy but there's an embarrassing problem involving horror movies he'd rather not talk about. Now he's got a week to fix it and only Dean for help. Sometimes being a teenager sucks.
1. Chapter 1

So here we are again, another week, another story (surely it's only a matter of time before I get burn-out?)

Anyway, this one's just a bit of fun dealing with the stresses of being a regular teenager etc. My first foray in the teenage-world of the boys but I kinda liked it! As for the titles? Well, hopefully they'll start to make some sort of sense as we go along, although it's pretty much just me messing about!

As ever folks...enjoy!

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**Demon Revenge. **

…**Showing Now at a Movie Theatre Near You**

The video store was full of aisles, row upon row of glossy cases staring out at him as he passed by; comedy, children, action, foreign. He was interested in none of them and the determination with which he crossed the store was enough to leave even Dean trailing his wake – although that was probably as much to do with the denim-short wearing blonde lazily browsing the romance section as anything. Sam however, was after the horror movies and not just any either.

Quickly digging a hand into the pocket of his jacket, he pulled out the carefully folded square of paper he'd hidden away during chemistry, looking again at the delicate lettering written across it, a heart dotted over every 'i' and the smell of strawberry gel pen lifting up off the page.

_Demon Revenge 6? _It asked casually in answer to his all but mumbled, semi life-changing question from earlier when he'd approached her by the lockers as her friends had slunk off to class and tried to stop his hands from sweating to the point of dropping his books.

"Hey, Lindsay?" he'd begun, quickly clearing his throat as his voice had cracked awkwardly. She'd gazed across at him unassumingly, a slight smile across gloss-covered lips. Sam hadn't been able to take his eyes off them.

"Yes?"

He had almost heard Dean's voice screaming in his head. _Stop staring dude. Ask her._

"Do you, uh, want to go to the movies?" he'd thrown in a shrug, going for super-casual but judging from the way she'd blinked at him it had probably looked more like a twitch, "Friday night, maybe?"

"Sure."

She had said sure. _Sure_. She hadn't even thought about it. _Sure_.

"Great," he'd beamed, trying to not to gush out the excited babble he'd felt building inside his chest, "Okay."

He had a date. The note had followed shortly afterwards, pushed onto his desk by her perfectly manicured fingers and followed by a hopeful gaze.

_Demon Revenge 6?_

He nodded. Demon Revenge 6. Which only left him with one tiny problem…

The Demon Revenge movies were almost the first ones he saw as he crossed into the horror aisle, stacked out in front of everything else in an obvious attempt to capitalise on the release of the series' latest offering. Judging from the volume they'd put out it was a popular franchise, which just served to make Sam feel all the more like a backwards loser. The truth was he'd only ever heard of the demon revenge movies in passing, from excited chatter in the corridors and during one art class when Robbie Crooker had decided to insert the movie's title character into the visual landscapes they were studying, leading to a long and painful conversation up by Mr. Paterson's desk about why he didn't, actually, need a psychiatric evaluation with the school counsellor. Whether he'd got one or not Sam didn't know, but what Sam had realised was that somewhere in the constant moving from school to school and in his limited to non-existent social life, he'd completely missed out on the whole demon revenge experience.

At least however, that was something he could rectify and so taking a deep breath he reached out and collected up all of the first five movies knowing that as long as he got through them all by Friday night, there was no way he could possibly show himself up in front of Lindsay. Well, not on the demon revenge-front anyway.

Arms full, Sam crossed towards the counter, letting the cases fall into a haphazard pile in front of him and using his hands to stop them from tumbling to the floor altogether as a bored looking worker shuffled forward to check them out, crumpling a finished packet of Cheetos into a ball and wiping hands across his logo-emblazoned shirt. Picking up the first case his eyes flickered over the title and then back to Sam again, standing expectantly before him,

"You got to be thirteen to check these out," he offered lazily across the counter, seemingly not taking Sam's recent and rapid growth-spurt into the bargain, nor the fact that he was clearly way past thirteen. Sam took it as an insult,

"I'm fifteen."

But if the guy was going to be a dick about it, then fine.

Turning back into the bulk of the store Sam cast around the various aisles finally letting out a sigh as his gaze settled on Dean, one arm resting casually against the top of the romantic comedy shelf, his attention fully-focused on the blonde who was twisting a strand of hair about her finger and smiling coyly,

"Dean?"

Mid-flirtation or not the second Sam's voice drifted across the room towards him, Dean looked up, quickly scanning the space and settling on his brother's lanky form over by the cash register. Seeing he wasn't in any trouble the expectant glance furrowed into a frown. _Can't you see I'm busy here_? Sam ignored him, after all when it came to Dean and women he was always busy somewhere.

"I need the card," he called instead, watching Dean pause briefly before throwing the woman an apologetic look and saying something that made her giggle and blush before turning and crossing towards his younger brother with a wide grin. He dug a hand in his pocket as he drew near, handing it across the desk and then blinking down in surprise at the stack of movies lying in front of him.

"_Demon revenge_?" he questioned disbelievingly, snorting in vague amusement before dropping his voice a little, "If you're that desperate to see demons Sam, dad can probably help you know."

Rolling his eyes Sam stepped forward and pulled the stack towards him, watching in surprise as Dean beat him to handing over the money, producing and passing it across the desk before the fifteen-year old could protest. Sam tempered his frown immediately, not wanting to seem too put-out with the older brother who had after all, just allowed him to save his own funds for Friday night. At least now he wouldn't be forced into the vaguely humiliating experience of asking his dad for popcorn-money.

Lindsay would probably want sweet instead of salted. Girls liked sweet.

Turning towards the door and watching as Dean silently slid a packet of M&Ms into his jacket pocket, Sam led the way back to the car, having to wait briefly as his older brother finalised his own plans with blonde of the month #3. He came out grinning, flapping a hand absently at a tall anorak-clad man positioned by the video shop door and trying to discreetly sell the latest counterfeit films to the coming and going customers. He scarpered quickly as the manager stamped across the store and swung his head out,

"Hey, you!" he shouted at the rapidly retreating figure, "Come back one more time and I'm calling the cops!"

Dean ignored the commotion easily, throwing Sam a grin as he drew towards the passenger door and opened it for him silently,

"Never a dull day here, huh?" he observed dryly, gazing up and down the little main street before rounding to the driver's side and watching in amusement as Sam struggled awkwardly into his seat whilst trying to balance the movie-stack carefully in his hands. Dean's deliberately heavy entrance sent them all into the foot-well.

"Dean!"

Sam's irritation however did not seem to dampen his brother's good mood any, earning him only a widened grin in response,

"Come on Sammy," he chirped brightly, waggling his fingers through the windscreen as the blonde he'd been hitting on sauntered out of the store and mimed holding a phone to her ear, _call me_. "We should be celebrating," he continued, tilting his head in appreciation as she sashayed her way down the street, "I mean, I've got a date, you've got a date – ,"

Sam blinked, startled,

"What?" he barked, trying to keep the alarm from his voice and feeling his cheeks begin to flush as Dean finally turned his gaze in his younger brother's direction, "Why would you think that?"

"The fact you're blushing like a schoolgirl for one…" Sam bit his lip, he was. _Damn_. "…_and_ the fact you rented every single one of those crappy movies for another thing, which I assume means you're going to see the latest one at some point – hopefully with the girl who wrote that note you were staring at back there,"

Sam paused, uncertain what exactly to say. For someone who pretended their entire existence rotated around either sex or violence, Dean could actually be pretty insightful. Still, he didn't need to know everything and so instead of confirming the theory either way Sam simply offered up a shrug,

"What makes you think a girl wrote it?"

As soon as he'd said it he wished he hadn't, drawing a look of mock-alarm as Dean bent forward and flipped on the engine,

"Guys don't write with strawberry-scented pens, dude," he paused suddenly, glancing over with exaggerated suspicion, "Unless…"

"It's a girl Dean," Sam groaned quickly, realising that in less than a minute Dean had managed to back him into honesty, "Her name's Lindsay Fuller."

Pulling away from the kerbside with a glance in his mirror, Dean frowned thoughtfully, one elbow leaning casually out of the window and letting the warm summer breeze blow up the sleeve of his jacket,

"The cute little strawberry blonde you came out of school with?"

"Yeah," Sam shrugged, dropping his gaze awkwardly into his lap. Not only was Dean insightful he also had the eyesight of a hawk, especially when it came to his little brother and _especially_ when it came to girls. Mix the two together and, well, the rest was inevitable. He seemed impressed,

"Nice. Good work Sammy."

"Thanks," it was a grudging reply at best and said with a laugh of vague derision. Good work was the sort of thing his wood shop teacher said to him when he'd made a working joint, not a comment he expected for having scored a date. Still, when it came to work and play Dean often struggled to see the difference, as far as he was concerned they could easily be one and the same.

"My little boy's all grown-up," Dean continued wryly, the comment laced with false emotion,

Sam squirmed,

"Shut up Dean,"

For a second everything went quiet and then abruptly Dean dug a hand into his pocket, pulling something free with a rustle and offering it across. He was grinning again and Sam couldn't help but smile back in return. Sometimes it seemed, life didn't totally suck.

"M&M?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Demon Revenge 2: Lake Terror. **

…**The Summer Just Got Deadly**

Dean's back was killing him, the combination of stiff library chairs and big dusty volumes of research having done him next to no favours. They'd been there for hours but after groaning in pain for what must have been close to the twentieth time John had taken pity on him and finally sent him home, albeit with more articles to scan but at least a semi-comfortable sofa from which to do it from.

His father's expression had been one of vague amusement as he'd looked up from his own silent study, eyes taking in the slumped teenager and the hand tenderly pressed to the small of his back,

"Hey Dean?" he'd begun smiling across fondly, seeming totally at ease with the stuffy environment unlike his eldest son, "Want to head on home with that?"

He'd not needed to ask twice.

The little apartment sat in complete darkness as Dean swung open the door, the gloom all the more intense as he stepped in out of the brightly lit hallway and slowly let his eyes adjust. He could hear the television on in the lounge, following the pale glow of the screen as he carefully negotiated his way there, stumbling over a pair of Sam's discarded shoes as he went and stifling a curse. Sam didn't seem to hear him and as Dean came to standstill in the doorway he realised why.

Sam was engrossed, sat cross-legged on the sofa with a pad of paper propped on one knee. In his hand he gripped tightly to a pen that didn't seem to be doing much writing and he was leant so far forward towards the tiny little set that for a moment Dean thought he might tip off the seat altogether.

Grinning wickedly he reached out a hand and flipped on the main light, succeeding in his main task; frightening the life out of Sam. As the pad of paper jerked from his lap and thudded onto the floor, Dean watched his younger brother jump, fumbling desperately with the remote control for the pause. He spun around wide-eyed as the room fell into silence, gaze falling on a familiar and grinning figure,

"Dean!" he breathed, moving swiftly through shock, annoyance and confusion, "You scared the crap out of me…I thought you were at the library."

"I was,"

A furtive glance around the room betrayed Sam's continuing concerns and Dean knew instantly who he was looking for although the younger boy tried to keep his tone casual,

"Where's dad?"

"Still there,"

The sigh of relief was audible, not much fancying the stern frown he knew would have followed if John had seen Dean managing to sneak up on him undetected. _You know better than that Sam, vigilance._ With everything else he had to worry about, he really didn't need his father's disappointment as well, not that he seemed to inspire a whole lot else lately. Straight A's were all well and good – and to his credit John did make an effort of congratulating his son for them – but for a Winchester that just wasn't good _enough_, not unless combined with a bloodlust bordering on ruthless and an unquenchable thirst for the hunt. Sam had both in short supply.

Across the room Dean lowered himself down into one of the battered old armchairs, propping one leg across his opposite knee and drawing out a pile of research to rest on his lap with a weary sigh. Glancing up absently in the direction of the television screen his brow abruptly drew into a frown,

"You're kidding me right?"

Sam blinked, looking backwards and forwards between them and seeing nothing,

"What?"

"_That's_ the demon?" he asked incredulously, flapping a leaf of paper in the direction of the set, "_That_?"

Sam looked back at the screen from where a red, horned monstrosity stared out at them from underneath the juddering pause-ribbons, eyes the colour of blood and streaks of the real thing – well, 'movie real' anyway – dripping from pointed white teeth. It was pretty absurd, but then again it had come directly from Hollywood and the less-prestigious part at that, frankly the entire thing was pretty absurd. All the same, it didn't stop Sam from gazing down awkwardly and heaving a non-committal shrug in response,

"Yeah. His name's Max."

Dean's incredulity only grew,

"_Max_? It's called Max?" he snorted disparagingly, dropping his gaze and opening up the first page of his research, "Sounds like someone's pet retriever, looks about as frightening too,"

Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat,

"Uh, Dean?"

"Yeah?" he didn't look up as he answered, eyes steadily flicking from side to side across the text before him, "What?"

"Are you…staying here?" came the hesitant question, Sam sounding less than happy as he fidgeted about uneasily on the well-worn cushion, "To research I mean, because, you know, I'm kinda…" a limp gesture towards the TV, "…watching something."

Raising his gaze but not his head, Dean took Sam in with a long and expressionless look before finally blinking as if in silent challenge,

"So? I'm not stopping you."

He dropped his head again almost as quickly and Sam nodded slowly from the sofa, still sounding less than convinced.

"Right."

The sound kicked in again after a brief pause and Dean glanced up in response, watching silently as Sam settled back into the cushions and carefully repositioned his pad of paper with a preciseness that made Dean smirk. The kid was borderline anal even when kicking back with a movie on, unbelievable, or actually in Sammy's case, totally believable. Although what the hell he could have to write about mid-monster marathon was a whole other mystery, especially since the on-screen action seemed to comprise entirely of some high school jock racing blubbering around the locker-room banging hysterically into the strung-up bodies of his team mates and…_whoa_, that was more like it, three smokin' hot cheerleaders who seemed to have at some point been stripped of most of their outfits.

One, apparently, was called Britanni – the token blonde he assumed – backed up by the quintessentially raven-haired tomboy – Terri? Kerry? Probably Terri – and finally Amber, a breathy and wide-eyed nod towards sexy black America. Maybe the film wasn't a total loss after all, even if the 'suspense' was laughable, one big cliché of screaming, shadowy corridors and sudden loud noises.

"Hey Sam? What – ," stopping short with one hand pointed lazily in the direction of the screen, Dean watched in amazement as Sam leapt a clean foot in the air, spinning round accusingly and breathing hard. Dean blinked at him in astonishment, "Dude? You're not…" he paused, "Are you _scared_?"

"No!"

"Sam – ,"

"I'm not scared, okay Dean?"

"Right," came the reply, heavy with sarcasm, "So I guess you hit the roof just now because you sat on something…" he got his answer when Sam's face quickly began to change colour, passing through several shades of red in a hot blush across his cheeks. Dean frowned, offering across a clueless shrug, "I don't get it Sam, we deal with things twice this scary in real life and yet some guy painted red freaks you out?"

Clowns, he thought suddenly as he said it, trying to piece it together in his own mind, it was probably along the same lines as the whole clown-thing, although Sam had all but grown out of that now he was old enough to slip under children's entertainer radar frequency. He watched his little brother grit together angry teeth,

"I'm _not_ scared Dean, I just…" he stopped short, refusing pointedly to make eye contact as he tried to explain without making himself sound like a complete wimp, "…it makes me jump, all right?"

Too late. He was a wimp. Besides Dean was right they did face scarier things, all the time but that was different, that was in real life when he was hunting with his family and in part responsible for the continued safety of his father and brother. Load, aim, shoot, it was simple and hanging on to a gun gave him a sense of power and control that helped guide him through. Sitting on the sofa literally waiting for something to leap out of the gloom every thirty seconds – as well as the damn creepy music ramping up the tension – was another matter entirely. He was _not_ scared, but if that's what it looked like…

"I'm going to look like a loser aren't I?" he muttered suddenly, drawing a look from Dean.

"You always look like a loser," he was going for humorous but judging by the desolate expression on Sam's face his attempt fell far short, and so instead he heaved a sigh, pushing his research to one side and sitting up wearily, "All right. _When_? When are you going to look like a loser Sam?"

"On friday," came the sullen response, "With Lindsay."

Ah, _now_ Dean understood. Sort of.

"Because you're scared?"

"I am_ not_ scared!"

"All right, all right," putting up his hands defensively, Dean leant back appealing for peace. Almost as quickly as it had flared however, Sam's ferocity died away to misery once more.

"I don't know," he shrugged dejectedly, "Maybe I should just cancel – ,"

"No," Dean interrupted swiftly, shaking his head determinedly from side to side, "No way, trust me that's the worst thing you can do."

"She'll laugh at me Dean! Everyone will laugh at me!"

"No one will even see you," Dean offered by way of reassurance, hating how wretched his younger brother looked. He should have been over the moon at scoring a date and yet there he was practically inconsolable. Heaving a sigh he tried again, "The movies are usually pretty dark, dude. It's how you see the screen."

Sam shot him a withering glare in response,

"Everyone at _school_," he clarified tersely before letting his shoulders slump, "Everyone at school will laugh at me."

"How will anyone else know?"

"Because," he hissed in exasperation, "It's _Friday night_, everyone will be there."

Dean blinked silently, okay, that was probably true but still it didn't have to be the end of the world and sighing as if the whole thing were a fuss about nothing, Dean pulled the research back and gazed across at his younger brother with a deliberate air of calm,

"So? It's simple Sam, you bag a seat at the back, it's more romantic that way too," he winked, waggling a suggestive eyebrow. Sam rolled his eyes in response but a vague flicker of hope flashed across his face, his tone more hopeful than cross.

"What about the jumping thing?"

Dean shrugged,

"Come on, are you kidding me? Chicks _love_ a guy who can show off their 'sensitive side'," he snorted, making full use of air quotations and quickly vowing never to use them again as he realised how gay they made him look, luckily Sam was too interested in his brother's date-advice to notice. Lucky break, "I bet you everything I have that Lindsay will think it's super cute that you're scared…err...you know, _jumpy_."

"You think?"

"I know."

Only he didn't, not really, he was just guessing but judging from how cute Lindsay had seemed in the brief moment Dean had seen her and knowing Sam's taste in girls – well-educated, well-behaved and generally wholesome – she was bound to be a firm believer in the showing of manly emotions. Sam would be fine, which reminded him absently that _he_still had the video-store blonde to call, if only he could remember where he'd put her phone number. _Damn_.

"Hey Dean?"

He blinked, Sam was gazing across at him, eyes flickering up and down awkwardly as he waited for a response,

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

Dean smiled, trying to crush down the warm fuzz that came with the gratitude. Once upon a time Sam looked to him to solve all his problems but as the years had gone by he'd increasingly started to take his big brother's offered help as an insult. Still, some things it seemed were still Dean Winchester specials and Dean for one was happy to help.

"Sure," he nodded, turning back casually to the papers bundled on his lap and trying to sound nonchalant through waves of pride, "Now do me a favour Sam, put your pen down, sit back and watch the damn movie."

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Ok, ok, so the chapter titles are going to get wackier as we go along (would it be wrong for me to admit I enjoyed writing them more than the actual story?) Anyway, as ever please let me know what you think and happy reading.


	3. Chapter 3

Okay, so before writing this I went on the internet for help (bad idea) because I couldn't decide if Dean had ever graduated or not. Turns out nobody else can either! Anyway, I went with yes figuring that John was too strict a father to allow otherwise, but am happy to change it if the majority think I'm wrong! Just drop me a line either way if it bothers. Now, on with the story...

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**Demon Revenge 3: The Reawakening.**

…**The Dead Don't Always Stay That Way**

Riley High – or to give it its full title Walter R. Riley High named after nobody quite knew who – was the second school Sam had attended without Dean, his brother's graduation a distant memory of the previous summer, he and John sitting proud and a little relieved in the seats lining the lawn of the little school in Indiana that had been Dean's last, watching him chat up the brunette wannabe-doctor sitting beside him until his name was called before sauntering across the stage with a wide grin as casual as if he were collecting a fast food order.

"Thank God for that," John had muttered under his breath as his eldest son had wrapped a hand around the paper and shaken hands with the Principal. Dean – although a lot more intelligent than he often let on – had not been the world's most natural pupil and what with scraping passes by the skin of his teeth and constant begging to ditch school in favour of hunting it was no great surprise that John had started to fear he'd never see the day dawn. But it had and with it had come the comforting notion that he would have no such worries with Sam, after all, the kid practically lived for school. If he'd known that his younger child had spent the last of his three morning lessons with his head buried inside Lindsay Fuller's date-note however, he'd have been significantly less than pleased.

The scent of the gel pen had worn off somewhere mid-biology, either from constant exposure or else repeated inhalation – which Sam had begun to expect when he'd started giggling for no reason during English – but the note still held the heady sense of excitement it had contained the first moment it had been slipped across his desk and that was good enough.

_Demon Revenge 6?_

The swirl was ingrained in his head, his eyes filtering every sweep and pen stroke, his brain memorizing the hand and carefully filing it away. Everything about it was perfect, especially the bit where he got a date.

Following the previous night's vague anxiety attack, Sam had regained something of his optimism by the time John had dropped him off that morning en-route to the library. Dean had still been in bed, just staggering towards the breakfast table as they'd left, but he'd still managed to throw his younger brother a meaningful nod, a silent assurance that everything was going to be fine. Sam, if he was honest, was still a little dubious about the whole thing but he wasn't seriously about to cancel a date with Lindsay, besides which, as he kept telling himself, who knew women like Dean did? Anyway, if the worst came to the worst – and there was no reason it would – he could always offer to take her bowling instead, or for a meal, they'd still be together at least. His eyes flickered downwards again,

_Demon Revenge 6? _

He was obsessed.

The pounding of the bell loud along the corridors released them from maths with an audible sigh of relief, books, pens and paper being shoved hastily into bags even as Mr. Vickery was issuing homework assignments, struggling to raise his voice above the rising babble of excitement. He gave up halfway through with a disgruntled flap of his hands, seemingly missing the fact that Sam at least was listening, not that he was exactly about to argue the sudden lack of work. He did have another two Demon Revenge movies to get through after all.

Swinging his bag up onto his shoulder and following the rest of stampeding class out into the freedom of lunchtime, Sam was surprised to find Lindsay standing up against his locker, books clutched to her chest against a pink hooded-top, a small and incredibly hot jean skirt poking out of the bottom. She smiled as she saw him heading towards her and he blushed instantly under the scrutiny, dropping his gaze a little and listening to her giggle in response.

Maybe Dean was right after all.

"Hey Sam," she greeted brightly, her tone carrying a hint of shyness alongside the cheerfulness. They liked each other that much was clear, but neither of them was exactly sure what to do with it. Which was never a problem Dean seemed to have had.

"Hi," he nodded back, leaning against the lockers and trying to channel some of his older brother's 'cool'. It failed miserably as he misjudged the distance and almost tumbled sideways into the wall with a frantic wheeling of arms. _Yeah, real smooth_. He could have kicked himself, he knew Dean would have. Lindsay however simply giggled again, gracious enough to pretend it hadn't even happened. She was amazing.

"So..." she began after a short pause, making eye contact before glancing away quickly with the beginnings of a blush, "…you just had maths?"

Sam nodded awkwardly, the answer sounding pretty lame even to him,

"Yeah,"

Lindsay still wasn't making eye contact,

"Who'd you have?"

"Mr. Vickery."

"Oh."

"What about you?"

"English, Mrs. Clark,"

"Right."

God it was awkward, even by their standard as a couple of awkward teens. No, scratch awkward, it was excruciating and why the hell could he not think of a _single_ thing to say. _Think you idiot, think_!

"Are you…" as Lindsay's voice broke the silence, her tone hesitant but hopeful, Sam looked up at her trying to temper the embarrassment with an open expression, "…are you still on for Friday?"

"Yes!" he breathed back quickly, a whole jumbled string of words following in his haste to convince her that he was in fact, very much on for Friday, "No, I mean…" he took a deep breath, gathering himself far too late but at least finally managing it. He smiled across at her, offering a nod, "Definitely. Are…you? I mean, do you still – ,"

He tailed off hopelessly, feeling the blush quickly transfer from her cheeks to his as he again failed at basic English. How could he be so different from Dean when it came to women? How the could he be the brother of the same Dean Winchester who'd once got a date from a girl in a bar by literally miming a phone with one hand and pointing at her with the other.

"Oh yes," Lindsay supplied hurriedly, if not sensing his inner self-loathing then at least cutting in quickly enough to stop it mid-flow, "Definitely…" she smiled, sending a cloud of butterflies directly into his stomach. God he was such a girl. She cocked her head cheerily, "…as well, I mean."

"Good."

Sam's sigh of relief was audible, and for the first time since she'd passed him the note his chest un-tightened just enough to allow him to breathe. It was all going to be fine after all.

"Only…" Oh God, there was an _only_, and an 'only' was as good as a 'but' which meant that, "…I kinda mentioned it to Kelly and now she wants to come along too – ," Lindsay frowned mid-sentence, her expression moving quickly through embarrassed and awkward before stalling somewhere around off-hand curiosity, "…you know Kelly?"

Sam bit back a snort, a better question was who _didn't_know Kelly Morris, head cheerleader and Riley High's resident Queen Bee. Super-rich, super-spoilt, pink-wearing, convertible-driving Kelly, the social equivalent of influenza – always threatening to strike and incredibly difficult to deal with, the only difference between them being that nobody ever much wanted the flu but anybody who was anybody wanted to be 'BFFs' with Kelly. Realising he still hadn't answered her question however, Sam shrugged, not entirely sure what to say.

"Not very well,"

Or in actual fact not at all although he vaguely knew Lindsay was friendly with her, not sleepover, makeover friendly, but evidently friendly enough to tag along on one another's dates.

_Wait…_

It took Sam a second to realise the wider implications, his frown of confusion changing abruptly to an open-mouthed stare of slow comprehension. _He_ was going on a date with _two_ girls? Maybe he was more like Dean than he thought…

"Oh, well that's okay," Lindsay replied, her voice barely reaching him through waves of elation and the mental imagery, "Brandon will be there too."

The bubble burst. Loudly.

"What?"

"Brandon," Lindsay replied, blinking at him a little as if he were some sort of moron, "You know…_Kelly's boyfriend_?"

Ah, of course. Brandon Benson, head jock and Riley High's Queen-Bee counterpart. Super-huge, football-kicking, nerd-beating, convertible-driving Brandon, the food poisoning to Kelly's influenza – impossible to ignore and particularly partial to inflicting pain on individuals crouched over toilet bowls. If nobody much wanted the flu then nobody _ever_ wanted food poisoning, especially not when it spent its time stalking the corridors with its burly teammates shoving people into lockers. Sam's nose wrinkled on instinct,

"_Brandon_?"

He obviously sounded horrified because instantly Lindsay's expression shifted remorsefully,

"I'm sorry," she murmured awkwardly, sighing heavily, "I know I shouldn't have said anything to Kelly. But she asked and, well…are you _sure_ you're okay with it?"

He wasn't, not by a long shot, but if Sam had learnt anything on his life-long trek through the American schooling system then it was the lure of peer pressure. People like Kelly were notoriously hard to say no to, nor were they used to such a word being used as a viable response to any request of theirs. Besides, Lindsay didn't exactly strike him as a 'no' kind of girl…which was something Dean would probably have taken down a whole different route. He shrugged again, trying to sound upbeat,

"Sure," he smiled thinly, running a nervous finger around the inside of his shirt collar as he did, "I'll see you on Friday. Pick up at six?"

"Yep, looking forward to it," she replied, nodding with such enthusiasm that he got the distinct impression that she really was – which was something, although as it turned out nothing compared to the look of gratitude she gave him as she turned to leave, "Thanks Sam."

He swallowed nervously, his throat suddenly feeling dry,

"No problem," he squeaked mildly.

Only it was, a _big_ problem.


	4. Chapter 4

**Demon Revenge 4: The Mutilating.**

…**Someone Wants to Play**

Sam had been in a black mood from the moment he'd climbed into the car, wearing a fierce scowl and answering his brother's chirpy questions in a series of single-syllable grunts, one for 'yes', one for 'no' and another – accompanied by a shrug – for either 'don't know', 'don't care' or what Dean suspected was probably both.

"Look Sammy," he'd offered finally after a few minutes of grumpy silence, "I'm sorry I'm late okay?" and he was, but only by about ten minutes which was pretty good considering, "But dude, I ran into Tammy – you remember her? From the video store?" Another grunt. It was indistinguishable from the others so Dean simply took it as a yes, "Well, she and I were – ."

The look he'd got from the passenger seat had stopped him dead and with a grumble of his own he'd reluctantly gone back to driving in the discontented silence Sam seemed to favour. Dean however, was anything but stupid and whilst he'd been a bit late collecting his younger brother he'd not missed what he assumed was the real cause of Sam's foul mood.

Sam had been waiting by the main entrance sitting on the low wall flanking the steps and swinging his feet absently through the dirt when the blue convertible had pulled up alongside him, filled to the brim with brawny guys in matching football jerseys and all wearing bizarrely ape-like grins.

Dean's hackles had risen on instinct, especially as one guy had leant out over the driver's side and appeared to hold some sort of conversation, which judging by Sam's slumped body language had been an unwanted and entirely one-sided affair. It hadn't lasted long but the exchange seemed to have greatly amused the assembled passengers, who as one had begun to cackle in hyena-like laughter before breaking out into a spontaneous round of high-fives as Sam had watched them with a look of distaste. He had solidly refused to rise to whatever bait they were throwing him, which was something of a pity for Dean who would gladly have taken the excuse to beat them all into the following week at least, but he hadn't spent eleven years sharing schools with Sam without learning which battles his younger brother could and couldn't handle. Sam hadn't gone in swinging and so neither had he, which still left one important question,

"They giving you trouble?"

A startled frown of confusion responded to his query as the sound of his older brother's voice jerked Sam from some sort of sullen reverie. A quick glance and an expressionless second of eye contact across the seats set the bewilderment straight at once and Sam sighed heavily in response, dropping his gaze towards his feet as he suddenly realised his tense little exchange with Brandon had had an audience. He didn't want to talk about it but both of them knew that wasn't an option, not with Dean Winchester in full-on protective mother bear mode and waiting expectantly for some sort of an answer,

"Sam?"

"It's fine Dean,"

The response was sharp, far too sharp to be convincing and shot-through with suddenly defensive surliness. Clearly it was not 'fine'.

"Yeah," Dean fired back, leaning heavily on bitter sarcasm, "Right."

He couldn't make Sam talk but he had other tricks up his sleeve, tricks he'd been using for years. Silence was one of them, silence and a hurt expression. _Fine Sam, you don't want to talk, have it your way,_ reverse psychology, getting Sam to talk in order to make amends. It always worked and as he watched his younger brother's eyes flicker periodically towards his – the guilt already setting in – Dean had to try hard not to smirk in triumph.

_Three, two, one…_

Right on cue Sam sighed heavily,

"Brandon's coming on Friday,"

"Brandon?"

Sam nodded, completely missing the finer implications of Dean's question. Who the hell was Brandon?

"Kelly Morris is bringing him."

"Wait, back up Sam who's this Brandon kid? The one in the car?" He was rewarded with a sigh, although whether it was in response to his limited grasp of the Riley High social system or the situation at large Dean couldn't tell, "Okay, and Kelly is…"

"His girlfriend," Sam replied grudgingly, shifting sideways in his seat so that he could prop a despondent elbow against the Impala window and his lean his head against it, letting the cold glass numb his forehead into oblivion. Beside him Dean snorted dryly,

"Which I'm guessing makes her rich, blonde and probably a cheerleader?"

Sam blinked, his brother's analysis proving surprisingly accurate.

"Yeah," he shrugged, realising it would probably be a lot easier if he just came out with it, after all Dean was hardly going to let the thing alone, "Lindsay invited her to come on Friday – ,"

Thankfully he didn't need to explain the rest, his brother was already there,

"And so suddenly you're all lined up on a double date with the biggest jock in school,"

It was a pretty apt summary and Sam nodded in response, thinking back to earlier when he'd briefly been dreaming of himself, Lindsay and Kelly together alone.

"Yep. I guess three's a crowd,"

"Not in my experience."

"_Dean_ – ,"

"All right!" came the hissed response, accompanied by an eye-roll as his brother shook an exasperated head, "You really need to lighten up you know that?"

"How!" Sam shot back indignantly, spreading his hands wide, "How am I supposed to lighten up when I'm going to be the laughing stock of the entire school on Monday morning?"

Dean blinked,

"Because of the jumping thing?"

"Yeah," Sam snapped, repeating the sentence back at him irritably, "Because of the jumping thing,"

"Well…" fumbling for an answer Dean paused to take a breath, not willing to admit he had nothing that could help, "I mean for God's sake Sam you just rented about a billion of those films from the video store, you're telling me that watching all of them doesn't give you some idea what to expect with this one?"

"How can they?" Sam fired at him sarcastically, finishing the sentence slowly as if Dean were some sort of moron, "It's – a – different – movie."

"They all looked pretty crappy to me. That's one thing they've got in common."

Sam sat back against the leather with a thump, arms folded across his chest and his tone still bitter if not defeated-sounding.

"Yeah, thanks Dean,"

"Look Sam – ,"

But Sam wasn't in the mood, besides which they were finally pulling up outside the tiny little apartment they rented which meant that he was spared having to go through the torment of talking about it any longer. Dean couldn't help him this time, no one could.

"Forget it," he said simply, grabbing his bag and swinging open the door. Dean looked at him sharply, confused by the sudden change. _First the kid wants to talk about it, then he doesn't. Teenagers_. He began again, calmer.

"Sam – ,"

"I _said_ forget it Dean,"

The slamming door seemed to stop things dead, except that where his younger brother was concerned nothing short of a full resolution of the problem would be good enough for him and so taking a steadying breath, Dean counted to ten and then clambered out after him.

Sam was already a good half-a-staircase ahead by the time Dean caught sight of him, the tall lanky legs of the rapidly growing teen carrying him quickly to the fourth floor in a determined trudge. Dean smirked, deliberately taking his time in the knowledge that there was no hurry, the apartment only had two sets of keys and he had one of them in his pocket. John had the other and short of knocking on the door for their father to answer – which Sam would never do – he was just going to have to wait for his older brother, which was what Dean rounded to corner to find him doing, leaning with his back to the wall and staring straight ahead in an all-out avoidance of eye-contact. Dean snorted wryly in response, if Sam wanted it that way then fine, wish granted, he wasn't going to say a thing. Yet.

He turned the key in the lock with a click, swinging the door inwards and letting his little brother stomp sulkily past him across the threshold. John was sitting at the table as they crossed through the lounge, books and papers marked, annotated and scattered around him in a sure-sign of research in progress. He looked up as his sons entered, mustering something of a smile for his youngest,

"Hey boys, how was school?"

It was a question he'd always asked, addressing them both so frequently that he still had to train himself out of the habit.

Sam paused awkwardly by the doorway to their bedroom, not sure what to say and offering up only a single shrug by way of a response. John frowned mildly, sensing something was up and looking to Dean for help or confirmation. His eldest son was happy to help, dropping keys down onto the counter and crossing his arms with a smirk at his younger brother's back,

"Sam's got date trouble."

The youngster's expression widened at once in horror, and John watched perplexed as the scruffy-haired fifteen year old spun towards his sibling with unconcealed fury and mortification,

"Dean!"

He got only a shrug in response, his older brother managing to retain something of an angelic expression despite the anger being directed back at him in waves,

"What? You have."

"Sam?" As his youngest son opened his mouth to fire back what he expected was a none-too-friendly rejoinder John interrupted smoothly, trying to keep his tone neutral as he took in his warring children with a single glance. It was strange to see them fighting, even if it was fairly passively, it didn't seem right. Over the last couple of years he and Sam had been arguing a lot more than they ever had before, but he put that down to himself as much as anything. Seeing Sam at loggerheads with Dean however was just…strange. John sighed wearily, deciding that not prying was probably the best course of action he had and mustering a thin smile instead, his tone even, "Why don't you go and get started on your homework son."

He was still glaring at his older brother but grudgingly and with something akin to gratitude or else sullen compliance, Sam eventually nodded mutely and stomped off through the door, half-slamming it behind him as he disappeared from view. When John looked back Dean appeared to be smirking, the sight drawing an eye-roll of its own alongside a silent and weary admission.

_Sometimes I just don't get those two…_

"Dean?"

"What?"

An innocent-looking face swung in his direction,

"Want to tell me what that was all about?"

"I just did,"

"Yes, you did," John agreed calmly, sitting back against the rickety kitchen chair and letting out a long sigh as he realised just how long he'd been hunched over the books lying open before him, "But apparently not all of it. Why's he mad at you?"

Dean shrugged, sliding into a chair opposite his old man and pulling one of the sheets of research closer,

"Oh come on dad, he's mad at everyone these days, probably something to do with his hormones."

"Dean."

_You're not helping_.

It was a look that never failed, a tried and tested John Winchester expression created just for use on his eldest – and most easily swayed – child, Dean never could resist it and as he sighed heavily and waved an absent hand in his father's direction it seemed to have worked again.

"Don't worry dad," he assured quietly, sudden sincerity replacing the flippancy, "I'm working on it."

John raised an enquiring brow in response, appearing as if he wasn't completely convinced by the answer when in reality he was already sold. When it came to Sam and any problems real or imagined Dean usually had the inside track – and relevant solution – in the time it took other people to blink. There was no reason to think that this time would be any different and just to prove it his son nodded determinedly, gaze unswerving,

"Trust me. I've got it covered."


	5. Chapter 5

**Demon Revenge 5: Devil Spawn.**

…**It's Back and This Time it's Brought the Kids**

He could see the irony without looking.

It didn't help. In many ways it actually made things worse – the silent thought that maybe he was the indirect cause of all his own problems. After all hadn't _he_ been the one who'd spent literally years wishing for a normal, active social life? Praying for the same trials and tribulations as his peers and fed-up of simply hearing about them by-proxy from the excited chatter in lessons? Well, finally he had his wish. _Obviously_ it was going to backfire on him – he envied the drama of others and so look if it hadn't come right back at him and clocked him about the face with it. You want drama kid? Great, here it is just like you asked. Never had the old adage been more true; be careful what you wish for.

He was officially an idiot, nor apparently was he the only one who thought so.

"Mr. Winchester?" he blinked as his name rang out across the class in sharp tones, watching as several heads spun grinning in his direction. _Busted_. "_Mr._ Winchester."

"Y-yes?"

Mrs. Crook was glaring at him hard over the top of half-rimmed spectacles, the chain swinging past her jaw line like shiny jowls as she folded arms across her chest, cocked her head to one side and waited expectantly for the answer she knew was not coming.

"Well?" she snapped impatiently, raising an eyebrow to emphasis the point. Sam felt the hot flush of embarrassment rise swiftly up towards his cheeks. Of all the teachers to be caught day-dreaming by, Mrs. Crook was possibly the _least_ lenient, nor did his blemish-free homework record seem to in any way absolve the minor mental lapse. Great.

"I…" pausing awkwardly and listening to the ripple of giggles working its way around the room, Sam took a deep breath and went for the only thing he could think of. Honesty, "I – I didn't hear the question,"

The eyebrow raised further in response, the replying tone positively dripping with sarcasm,

"Really? There's a surprise," and then suddenly the narrow-eyed glare was back again, sliding into place across the levity and squaring on the squirming teenager before her, "_I asked_, what you thought Othello's main mistake is during the course of the play? Amber suggested letting his own insecurities of race cloud his judgement but do you have anything to add?"

Main mistake? Sam almost snorted unable to keep out the bitterness. Surely Othello's biggest mistake was assuming that after getting married he could go off and live a normal happy life – that sort of thing rarely seemed to work out, although maybe he was becoming overly cynical. Maybe he was becoming Dean. Mrs. Crook however – unaware of the building identity crisis – was still waiting for her answer and realising that unresponsiveness was probably only going to exacerbate the situation, Sam reluctantly opened up his mouth.

The bell beat him to it, students erupting at once into a burst of chatter, rustling jackets and slamming shut books.

"Well Mr. Winchester," Mrs. Crook snapped sharply, piercing the noise with a single glare, "I hope you'll have your answer ready first thing next lesson, because I _will_ be asking again."

Nor did he doubt it, simply nodding hurriedly and heading for the door alongside everyone else.

Lindsay was waiting for him outside, leant casually against the wall watching the flow of students flooding out into the corridor. Her face lit up the second she saw him and again the butterflies did a victory lap of Sam's stomach, watching her cherry-gloss covered lips part in a wide smile.

"Hey Sam," she began shyly, crossing the distance between them and falling into step alongside him. It felt nice, it felt…natural.

"Hey,"

"So…" Lindsay was back to glancing at her feet again, the nervousness still very much in evidence despite their impending date. Sam liked it, it was cute, "…my mom wants to know what time you'll be picking me up tomorrow and my dad wants to know who's driving," she grinned suddenly, the expression vaguely apologetic and Sam picked up on the hidden message at once making a mental note and putting it to one side. Over-protective father. Right.

"Six," he offered calmly, fighting the urge to show her the timetable he'd made in order to plot the course of the next day from the moment he left school to the moment the evening ended. He'd shown it to Dean and Dean had called him anal. It was staying in his pocket, "And my older brother is driving,"

"My dad might want to meet him,"

_Oh God. Disaster._

"No problem."

She smiled again, pausing on the entrance steps and turning towards him as Sam realised absently that they had somehow in the course of their conversation made it outside already. He could see the Impala from the corner of his eye, Dean leant up against the driver's side door, head tipped back, enjoying the sunshine.

"Great, thanks Sam," Lindsay didn't see him, her eyes fully forward. Abruptly she leant into him, placing a delicate hand on his arm and planting a kiss on his cheek. It was so soft for a minute Sam thought he'd dreamt it, but then as Lindsay stepped backwards, the shy smile sliding across her face again, he knew he hadn't. She waggled fingers at him gently, "See you tomorrow."

He rose a hand back, not trusting himself to speak and praying that Dean had missed the big moment. He chanced a glance. His brother was smirking underneath his shades – yeah, he'd seen. Crap. His mortification totally diverted him from the bigger problem, however. Brandon, ten o'clock, coming straight for him flanked by two burly minders. Crap and double crap. _Stay put Dean, please stay put_.

"Hey, Winchester."

Brandon was grinning, a sure sign that some sort of insult was not far behind. Sam however stood his ground. He wasn't afraid, not by a long shot, after all he'd met and traded fists with more 'Brandons' in his life than was probably normal, but at the same time he couldn't deny the unease. Physical combat he could handle, it was the mental warfare he was keen to avoid, the eating alone at lunchtime, being tripped and laughed at in the corridors, the whispers, the rumours – Sam just couldn't compete on that level, he didn't have it in him and now that he didn't even have Dean to spend sympathetic break periods with him he had to try and fly just about as low under the radar as he'd ever been. He wasn't about to start anything, not intentionally anyway.

"Brandon," he replied instead, standing his ground and turning calmly towards the grinning blonde. A fist came out of nowhere, catching him across the shoulder with a bang and accompanied by a laugh. It took him a split second to work out it had been meant more as a gesture of deliberate over-friendliness rather than the beginnings of an assault and he let his own fist uncurl in response. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Dean twitch angrily.

_Stay put, stay put, stay put, stay put…_

"So," Brandon continued with something of a sneer, unaware of the leather-clad back up glaring daggers at him from the roadside, "You all ready for tomorrow night?" An elbow to the ribs, followed by a snide grin, "Fancy your chances with Lisa, huh?"

"Lindsay."

"Right," Brandon shrugged, interest fast waning, "Whatever, just don't think this makes us friends okay?" suddenly he was pointing a warning in Sam's face, "I don't want you coming up to us and hanging around all right?"

Sam blinked, his face crumpling in a mixture of contempt and confusion. _Dude_,_ you just came up to me._ Instead he shrugged,

"Sure."

Staying away from Brandon was not going to be a problem.

"All right then," stepping past him the bigger boy pushed deliberately into Sam's shoulder, his mates following close behind and each copying the same irritating shove, grinning mutely. One even ruffled his hair sending Dean's foot up onto the kerb before being halted by a surreptitious hand-wave from Sam. _It's all right, I got it. _He stopped only grudgingly.

"Don't forget to wear extra panties Winchester," Brandon continued casually, not even bothering to turn around as he threw the insult over his shoulder, "In case all the scares are too much for you tomorrow."

Great. He was completely doomed.

As the three swaggered away, roughhousing with one another and still cackling with laughter, Sam took a deep breath and shifted his bag up further on one shoulder, heading across the grass towards his brother whose entire expression screamed murderous rage even if half-hidden underneath sunglasses.

"What gives Sam?" he demanded the second his younger brother was within hearing-range, "Why the hell didn't you tear him a new one?"

"Yeah right Dean," came the sarcastic response, Sam simply trudging past him and opening the passenger side door to throw in his bag, "And be a total social outcast?"

"It's better than being someone's bitch,"

"I'm not Brandon's bitch," he shot back hotly, clambering in and dropping his head back against the seat. Dean climbed in after him, not totally convinced,

"You could have fooled me."

"That's not hard, you're pretty stupid."

For a moment neither of them spoke and then abruptly – led by a twitch from Sam – both of them were smiling, Dean shaking his head in amusement as he sat forward and spurred the car into life, watching as Sam frowned absently, a sudden thought occurring to him.

"Lindsay said her dad might want to meet you tomorrow when you pick her up,"

Dean grinned,

"I'd rather meet her mom, you know, if all the women in her family are as 'friendly' as she is," For a second Sam didn't have a clue what his brother was getting at and then, with a lurch of vague embarrassment he remembered. The kiss. Dean read his discomfort in an instant, the squirming seemingly making his younger sibling all the more amusing to him, "Seriously Sam, nice work, a pre-date kiss? You're already halfway there!"

"Dean – ,"

"Come on Sam, you need to know these things, especially for tomorrow night if you're going to beat that jackass back there."

Sam blinked,

"Brandon?"

"Yeah. Just think how great it'll be when you're making out with Lindsay and all he's getting is a slap in the face,"

Sam snorted, yeah, that would be pretty great, only the chances of him making out with Lindsay were about one in a million, especially when Brandon caught sight of him jumping his way through the movie, bombarded him with insults and turned him into a laughing stock. Cute or otherwise, no girl was willingly going to want to hang around with the school's new chief-loser. He sighed heavily, tone suddenly sarcastic with despondency,

"Yeah, great."

Dean shot him a look from the driver's seat, alert to the sudden change in mood and trying to guess it's cause.

"You worrying about the whole 'being scared' thing again?"

"I'm _not_ – ," as Sam fired up to re-hash old ground Dean flapped an exasperated hand at him, stopping his short with a frustrated sigh,

"Yeah, yeah, all right Sam. I heard you the first ten times okay?" Pulling off his shades with one hand and flinging them lazily onto the back seat, Dean swung his arm over to scrabble about in the rear foot well, his driving becoming so vaguely erratic that Sam leant over to help secure the wheel, "Take it."

"What?"

"Take the wheel Sam,"

As Dean disappeared almost bodily over the back of his seat, only his feet still in place, Sam gripped his hands about the wheel and tried to focus on the road ahead. What in the hell was Dean doing? Why was he taking so long and…uh-oh, police car.

"Uh, Dean?"

"Got it," popping up so suddenly that Sam almost jumped, Dean turned and slid his grasp back around the wheel, shifting across the seat until he was back in position again. The squad car drove past seconds later, Sam still leant half across Dean watching them slide by, "Dude," Dean was looking across at him, nose wrinkled at their abnormally close proximity, "Personal space?"

Grumbling at his ever-infuriating older brother Sam wriggled back across the seats to the passenger side, barely noticing the package Dean flung out with one hand as he went.

"Here,"

Sam blinked at him, staring at the outstretched offering in confusion,

"What is it?"

"Well why don't you open it Einstein," another thrust towards his younger sibling did the trick, Sam taking the paper bag and peering into it suspiciously, "And don't say I never give you anything either," Dean added, keeping his eyes casually forward,

Inside the package was a DVD case, black with no cover. Still addled by complete confusion, Sam reached a hand inside, pulling it free and turning it over to check the label which was an unevenly-stuck, hand-written affair with two words and one number scribbled across the strip. Sam felt his heart grind to a halt.

"Wha – but, Dean this is…"

"Demon revenge six," came the calm if not slightly smug reply, "I know,"

"But how – I mean…," As words continued to fail him, Dean cut into the babble smoothly, shrugging as if the whole thing had been no big deal. In his eyes it probably hadn't.

"Lucky for you the video store didn't call the cops on that guy outside,"

Sam blinked, the pieces of the puzzle slowly falling into place,

"It's a counterfeit?"

"No Sam," Dean threw back sarcastically, "I just phoned the folks at the studio and asked to have a copy so my little brother could watch it before his big date and what do you know if they didn't mail me one straight out. _Yes_," he added afterwards, as if for clarification, "It's counterfeit."

Sam couldn't speak, didn't think he could muster the words. Dean had literally saved his life – well, what little of his life was going to be spent at Riley High that was, which in all reality was probably not too much longer. Still, Dean had saved what there was and for that he was eternally grateful.

"Thanks Dean,"

He should have known his big brother was on the case, if nothing else a life on the road with his family had taught him that much. Ask and you shall receive, it was practically Dean's motto.

"Not a problem Sammy," And Sam knew he meant that too, the sentence bringing a wide smile. He owed Dean, he owed him big, whatever he wanted he could have. "Can I take a shot at Lindsay's mom now?"

Okay, well maybe not _that_.

"Sorry," Sam grinned in vague sympathy, watching his brother click his fingers in mock-frustration.

"Too bad, you can't beat an older woman,"

"I think she's got a grandmother…"

"Really?" Dean grinned back, enjoying the banter because he knew it meant Sam was happy. He waggled his brows a little in response, tugging at the collar of his jacket self-consciously, "Well in that case Sammy roll on tomorrow night. Looks like we might both be getting lucky."

The grossed-out face he got in response was worth every second. Problem solved.

* * *

Of course Dean sorted it, did anyone doubt him? And hands up who guessed how he was going to do it – you win the raffle! Anyway, one more to go here and then we're all done.


	6. Chapter 6

**Demon Revenge 6: Bikini Blood-Fest.**

…**Anyone Want To Go Skinny Dipping?**

When Sam had hit his teens funny things had started to happen. Nothing major – except the enormous growth spurt and growing rebelliousness – no change in how he looked, dressed, thought or talked but little differences that spoke volumes in a family like theirs, tight-knit and often reliant on their ability to read one another.

Kicking at the front door instead of knocking was one of them, a small but sullen statement usually made with his hands thrust deep into the bottom of his pockets. It had backfired on him bitterly once when he'd put one of his ever-growing feet through the cheap wood of a motel room door but even John's furious explosion hadn't stopped him from carrying the practice on – if anything it had probably encouraged it and perhaps sensing the same thing John had chosen not to mention it again.

The brisk and chirpy knock that jolted them from their research at just gone ten therefore gave both he and Dean something of a shock, both heads snapping up from the books lying open between their elbows, John glancing across at his eldest, a pen frozen mid-sentence in his grasp,

"Think that's Sam?"

Leaning back with a sigh Dean lazily checked the gaudy 70's clock suspended and ticking loudly across the other side of the room.

"Already?" His face crumpled abruptly in response, drawing something of a smirk from John.

"That wrong?"

A vaguely awkward largely off-hand shrug worked as the bulk of Dean's answer, a mumble providing the verbal portion of the reply.

"It's just sort of…early, that's all,"

Eyes sparkling in amusement John sat back heavily, clearing his throat to quell the tickle of laughter. Instead he simply quirked an eyebrow at his son and tried to keep his tone disapproving.

"Lindsay's from a nice family Dean," he responded casually, shutting the book before him and clambering to his feet. That was undeniable, Dean had seen it himself when he'd picked them up earlier. Nice big house, neatly manicured lawn, typical businessman-type father who'd looked both boys up and down for a full minute before grudgingly letting them in and a vivacious blonde for a mother who he could have sworn winked at him. Still, nice neighbourhood, nice daughter and just every inch the 'nice' all-American family. John's smirk widened, "There's a difference,"

"From what?"

"The girls you usually date," turning to slide the book onto the rickety little shelf with the others John chuckled, listening to the knock sound around the room as Sam tried again. Dean didn't argue, the accusation was fair enough and they both knew it, "Now are you going to get the door or not?"

"Yeah, yeah," came the weary reply, followed by the sound of Dean reluctantly rocking onto his feet and pushing back his chair. He raised his voice as he trudged into the hall, dogged by yet more knocking and making John smile anew at the indignant tone, "All right will you Sam? I'm coming!"

The truth of the matter was that John would have loved to be the first one at the door, the first one to greet his son and the first one to judge on sight whether the big date had been a success or not, but the strange loggerheads he and Sam had been moving towards for the past couple of years had forced him to reassess his relationship with the boy and in doing so he'd discovered that a hands-off approach seemed to satisfy his youngest best. It had hurt him to first realise it and all but killed him in the application but that was where Dean came in, solving any problems, any issues, any needs. His big brother had always been Sam's first point of call and returning from what was probably his first big date was no exception, Dean would know instantly how to act and however grudgingly Sam would let him. It was just the way of things.

"Dude," it was his eldest son's exclamation coupled with the click of the door latch that broke his thoughts, "What the hell? Why are you back so early and why are you _knocking_?"

It was a good question, although it had its own answers; Sam was knocking because he was happy, cheered enough from teenage sullenness to briefly ignore his own self-imposed little rules – like door kicking. His smile told the rest of the story. It had gone well.

"It's a door Dean. You're supposed to knock on them," stepping in past his older brother Sam's smile gave way to an exaggerated eye-roll accompanied by a general sigh of long-suffering, "And I'm not home early, it's ten."

The innocence of his response drew only a snort in return,

"Sam, dude – ,"

"Dean," raising an article up to his face in the pretence of reading as his sons wandered into the lounge, John quickly moved to cut off his first-born, neither wanting Sam tainted by his brother's bizarre and frankly unexplainable sexual appetite or embarrassed by his own lack thereof. Luckily a lifetime of growing up with Dean Winchester had pretty much hardened them both to such things,

"I told Lindsay's dad I'd walk her home after the movie," Sam offered slowly, moving across to the kitchen and reaching into the creaky and loudly whirring fridge to pour himself a glass of juice. A shrug accompanied the statement, casual and indifferent, "That's what I did,"

"As you should," John interjected before noticing the hot blush starting to spread across his younger son's cheeks at the realisation he was talking date-stuff in front of their father. He knew what that meant and took a deep breath instead as if he were changing topics, watching Dean's head swing in his direction ever-perceptive, "I uh…think I'm going to check out the warehouse we marked earlier. See if there's any trace left from last night,"

"Want me to come?" It was a hopeful offer, it always was. When it came to helping him out Dean was eternally hopeful, constantly desperate to be of use. It was almost as heart-warming as Sam's rejection of him were breaking and he mustered a smile in response,

"No, you stay here with your brother," _Find out if everything went okay_, "I'll be back soon."

Dean nodded at him solidly. Message received and understood. Sam stayed quiet, not even looking up until the front door had slammed shut behind their father's battered and familiar jacket. When he did Dean was staring at him expectantly,

"_Well_?"

"Well what?"

"How's the price of gold doing?" Dean fired back sarcastically before rolling his eyes, "What do you think? How'd the big date go?"

A grin of elation was his reward for asking, Sam's expression lighting up like a bonfire.

"He threw his drink over her!"

Dean blinked,

"Who? Brandon?"

"Yup,"

Dean still wasn't following,

"Threw his drink over Lindsay?"

Sliding onto a barstool and listening to the old lino crackle underneath his weight, Sam sighed and let his shoulders slump in exaggerated frustration.

"What? No,_ Kelly_."

"Ah," abruptly Dean was all caught-up, flashing back to their earlier conversation and managing to piece together the Riley High social scene for just long enough to make sense of things, "Bitchy cheerleader girlfriend," he nodded once, "Got it."

Sam however was barely listening, the tale tumbling from his mouth in excitement,

"There was this one part in the movie where the demon – ,"

"Max?" Dean added helpfully, watching his brother pause uncertainly,

"Actually no, he's kind of Max's great-great grandchild,"

"You mean grand_spawn_," the elder added, using Sam's careful thoughtfulness as an excuse to snake his orange juice without him noticing.

"Right…anyway, there's this one part where the demon – ,"

"Max the third,"

"_Dean_!"

"Okay, okay…"

Settling back with a smile, hands held up in surrender, Dean fell into silence, watching the animated retelling of events with a sense of satisfaction. It was good seeing Sammy so happy. It certainly made a change that was for sure.

"_Anyway_, whatever it is jumps out from behind the wall during a blackout – ," _Figures_, "And it totally scared the crap out of Brandon – ,"

"Who threw his drink over Kelly," Dean could guess the rest, well, most of it anyway.

"Uh-huh _and_ the couple in front who went and complained to the staff."

"How much did he get to see?"

"Twenty minutes,"

_Nice_.

"Anyone see him leave?"

"Yeah, everyone did."

Even better, although as far as Dean was concerned only one thing could top that particular part of the story. It was only right he asked,

"And uh, you and Lindsay…?"

The blush that hardened across Sam's cheeks pretty much gave him the answer, but it was worth having asked just to watch him squirm awkwardly on the other side of the counter. He refused the high-five point blank, but he was still smiling. He was pleased with himself, Dean was pleased for him and why the hell shouldn't he be?

"Way to go little brother," he grinned wickedly, a sudden thought occurring to him, "Hey, if you two lovebirds get married it's still legal for me to do her mom right?"

Another eye-roll, doubling as Sam finally noticed the empty glass where moments before orange juice had been,

"_Dean_ – ,"

His older brother ignored the whine pointedly, nodding instead,

"You're right, I'd do her anyway,"

"She's married Dean," and although he was trying to sound deeply disapproving Sam was smiling, enjoying the banter and the sense of relief that had come with the end of the evening. Dean had completely saved his life – in teenage, social-terms of course. Throughout the entire length of the movie he hadn't jumped once, not so much as flinched, every second of film memorised from constant repetition.

Lindsay however had been terrified and spent much of it buried underneath his chin with a ball of his shirt in her fist. She'd called him cute for letting her do it, and her apparent gratitude had led to a kiss, a proper kiss just down the street from her house. Her father had been twitching at the blinds as they'd drawn closer and saved a parting glare for Sam to head home with. Clearly no one was good enough for Lindsay, especially not someone whose older brother drove a dilapidated car, wore copious amounts of leather and made eyes at his wife. Sam didn't care though, it wasn't important because Lindsay still liked him. Nor did it matter that her dad didn't like Dean, some people just didn't. Sam did though, Sam owed him, _had_ always owed him. Probably always would.

"You saw her Sam," apparently they were still on Lindsay's mom – the topic that was, "I'm telling you man, she wanted me."

"Has anyone ever told you you're a narcissist?"

A brow quirked at him in partial amusement,

"Not if they wanted to live."

Sam stared back, laying down an all-out challenge. _Do your worst_.

"You're a narcissist."

Dean gazed over at him, face unmoving, eyes matching each other across the counter-top, each waiting for the other to break.

"Strike one Sammy,"

"You're a pervert,"

"Strike two."

"I guess you're not so bad at being an older brother though," a smiling admission, offered with an awkward shrug and a downwards glance. Dean took it anyway, he'd always take it as long as it came from Sam.

"So I hear,"

Sighing and pushing himself to his feet with a grunt of exertion, Dean turned and headed for the couch, by-passing the books still lying on the table and grabbing the remote as he went. Flopping down into the well-worn cushions he watched from the corner of his eye as Sam set about re-filling his glass, waiting until the boy had turned before adding one final point,

"Well I'm glad you had a good night Sam, and oh, by the way," he watched the shaggy head swing towards his, the expression both patient and expectant,

"Yeah?"

"You still need to pay me back for the DVD."

_Poor Sammy_.

The kid never could catch a break.

* * *

Well there you have it, my first and possibly only foray into the teenage lives of the boys (never say never though!) Next we're back to business with what is shaping up to be my longest story ever, but it's firmly back on familiar ground again; grown-up boys, plenty of action and a lot of unravelling to do!

In the meantime however I hoped you liked this one, thanks for reading and feel free to drop me a comment. Cheery-bye everyone (sometimes I'm too British for even myself!)


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